Humphreys Peak, The Long Way

 09/07/26

It was raining when I left town. Couldn't see much. Apple Valley, Colorado City, Fredonia. I drove through these places in a haze, gazing upon them through the rain-splattered chaos of my windshield. Hardly anyone out and about. Not a whole lotta drivers on the road. Just gray skies, heavy droplets, saturated desert. 

And then I hit an incline and began the long ascent up the road to Jacob Lake and the rain dissipated for the time being, the heavy stuff hovering off to the west. On and on I drove, sunlight filtering through the clouds, stately pines scattered around like people at an amusement park with no sense of want or feeling.

Reached a junction, stayed on the main highway, utilized the engine break, coasted out of the pines, out of the mountains, down into the desert. The rain was mostly gone by now, all of it far away in the west. Nothin' but scattered clouds and open road and the simple perfume of the desert after a hard rain, a fresh aroma permeating from the earth, in the air, in my nose, everywhere, all the time. 

Vermillion Cliffs

Drove by the Vermillion Cliffs. Saw the Cliff Dweller Stone Houses, empty and cold. Drove across the Colorado River, heading south, the late afternoon light bouncing off everything, playing tricks on the mind. More damp desert, more aromatics. 

Threw an old mixtape in the CD player. Jammed out all the way through the reservation, stopping at the Highway 89 "Yummy Shack" for a quick bite. No windows, no doors. Just some wooden posts and plywood and a few benches. Got me some frybread. Honey, cinnamon, the works. Ordered me a "Navajo Taco" as well: more frybread, chili, cheese, lettuce, tomato. Greasy fare. Greasy hands. A beverage was included with the order; I grabbed it out of an ice chest. RC Cola. Haven't had one of those in a long time. Maybe ever. I don't know.

And there was this middle-aged guy loafin' around and he left in his truck and came back five minutes later with more RC Cola and dumped it in the ice chest and the ladies sat in camp chairs and talked about something I couldn't hear and then a local guy pulled up on a smokin' blue motorcycle. "Lot of cops out today" he said. "Oh, so you can't ride fast anymore?" said one of the ladies. "Naw," he said, "too many cops, too many flock cameras too, they even got one down by the Chevron." And I swear, just as he finished saying that, a person got pulled over right next to the shack, flashing lights and everything. 

And the guy ordered a "Navajo Burger" to go and he chatted with the ladies and the grandma lady was cookin' up everything in the back and the guy waited for the cop to leave and he hopped on his smokin' blue motorcycle and slowly, casually, pulled out of the dirt and onto the highway, destination unknown. 

Humphreys Peak

I ate in an unhurried, leisurely manner. Felt the wind blowing across the desert, the post-rain fragrance bombarding my nasal cavity. People came and went. Local kids. Local families. Traveling families. Husband and wife and baby drove all the way from Minnesota or Michigan or something in a camper van. "Long way from home" said one of the ladies. "Yep, sure are!" said the wife. 

And everyone was extremely nice there and the food, grease and all, was delicious. I finished my RC Cola and started heading out, but then one of the ladies struck up a conversation and I chatted for a little bit. Where you from? What do you do? Where are you going? Easy conversational tidbits like that. Told her I was gonna hike up the big mountain over there, "Mt. Humphreys I think is what it's called," in the morning. "Oh," she said. "Make sure to bring lots of water. Don't want to get dehydrated." "Ahh, yes." I said. "Will do."

And then the sun started to set and I drove on out of there, up the road, Mt. Humphreys looming on the horizon. Sun down, night approaching; I made a sharp right and drove off the highway down a dirt road, bumpy, bumpy, dusty. Dark now, headlights guiding the way. Pulled into a dirt parking lot; only a couple of other vehicles posted up there. Set up my pad and bag, read a single page of Moby Dick, and that did the trick—I was out.

Weatherford Trail

Silent morning, simple sunshine. Time to get up. Had a long day ahead of me. And that was by choice. Decided to take the long way to the top. Didn't have to do that. In fact, it was a pretty bad idea. I only had my weekend to do as much as possible and hikin' up to Arizona's highest point the long way would eat up quite a bit of said weekend. Wouldn't be able to do as much as I wanted. But that's ok. That was part of the plan.

You see, I wanted to take the long way. It's the respectful way; the only way were one can appreciate the mountain for what it is. You get a feel for the mountain. You get more of the story. You see more of the sights, hear more of the sounds. Sure it's tedious, time consuming, exhausting, mind-numbing. But that's part of the deal, all part of the reason to do it. I was in the mood to let my mind wander on a long walk through the mountains. So I got out of the car, grabbed my pack, and set off on the Weatherford Trail, the morning nice and cool and calm. 

Quite peaceful on the way up. Nothing but soft green grass, numerous wildflowers, vanilla-scented pine trees. Not a soul on that trail; had the whole thing to myself. Just kept walking along, traveling through the forest, some of it burnt, some of it pristine. Nothing on my mind; just a steady jaunt on a steady grade, following long switchbacks as they made their way up the mountain. 

Smelled a faint trace of campfire smoke at one point. Then I heard the voices. Big group comin' down, all dressed in black, walkin' their dogs, carryin' big ol' packs loaded down with overnight gear. Waved, passed 'em by, kept on going. Eventually I reached Fremont Saddle, Mt. Humphreys up ahead, still a good clip away. I sat down, chugged some water, nibbled on a Clif Bar, gazed upon the mountain. Oh yeah. This was gonna be a goodun. 

Mt Humphreys (center right) from Fremont Saddle

Hit the trail and kept on walkin', views of the Inner Basin coming into play now, the aspen leaves still as green as ever. Saw me a couple of trail runners zoomin' on down the trail, each one wearing nothing but a t-shirt, shorts, and a tiny little hydration vest. A bit cooler now, the air crisp and fresh. Walked through a forest of firs and tiny lil' mushrooms and then hit Doyle Saddle and started heading up, up, up into the land of rock and sun, no more forest, just a few scattered, shriveled, hardy little trees and shrubs. 

The Inner Basin

Fremont Saddle between Doyle Peak(left) and
Fremont Peak (right)

Gettin' closer...

Hit the junction with the Humphreys Peak Trail, the one that everyone and their brother seemed to be using that day. No more solitude. Now was the time for groups of people with their own stories and fitness levels and hopes and dreams and conversational topics revolving around how cold it was or the spectacular views or how long was it to the top or what they'd just watched the night before or about this really good restaurant they just went to that you just had to try. Infinite voices, infinite conversations. I passed people by, people passin' me, their conversations floating in my ear like an MF Doom instrumental track, their voices nothin' but samples on an album of meandering randomness with absolutely no focus. 

Almost there...

Hooray!

I got to the top, the summit crowded with folks of all walks of life. Old folks, young folks, kid folks, fit folks, fat folks, folks wearing name-brand clothing, folks in nothing but jeans and a hoody. The one thing tying them all together was the silence. That surprised me. Usually with a crowd as large as that, there's always someone talking. But not today. Even the dudes who were blasting music on the way up turned off their boombox when they got to the top. Everyone sat in silence, occasionally muttering only the briefest string of words into the brisk mountain air.

Very strange. But welcome. Helped me absorb the scene without much distraction. Being an ultra-prominent peak, ol' Humphreys had some of the best views I've ever seen from any summit, rivaling those I'd seen on Mt. Charleston earlier this year. Plus the weather was exceptionally clear so the views stretched off into infinity, the wide expanse of undulating earth merging with the soft sky in a blurry, unfathomable line on the distant horizon. I could see the Vermillion Cliffs out yonder, tiny and unassuming. Saw Kendrick Mountain and O'Leary Peak, two places I expected to visit para la mañana. Could even see Navajo Mountain wayyyyyyyy out there, a tiny black bump rising out of rugged, incomprehensible desert. Only thing I could't see was the damn Yummy Shack. Oh well. 

North

East(ish)

South

West(ish)

Probably stood up there for all of ten minutes. And then it was time to go. Waved goodbye to the summit and started down the trail, the thing busy as ever. So many people, so many voices. One guy jokingly said to me "Hey, you only got five minutes to go! The parking lot's right there!" And I said "Nah man, I took the Weatherford Trail man, I got a long ways left man" and he was like "Wow, damn. Well good luck" and I waved him off and kept on going, my mind in a state of resolute aloofness. 

Passed the junction and immediately entered the land of solitude once again. Not a soul on that trail. Back to the long meditation, the dirt crunching underfoot, the breeze and the sun and the fatigue ever so slowly materializing in my wobbly legs. Down, down, down, out of the land of rock and sun, back into the forest, back to the Fremont Saddle, back to the burn area, the snags scattered around the slopes like the sun-bleached quills of a gigantic porcupine. 

Mt. Elden down there...

An arch

Snags

Only saw a few people on my way down, all of whom were heading up to the summit. Saw a trailrunner guy, bedecked in the same minimalist garb as all other trailrunners. Saw a young college-lookin' kid who was runnin' and stumblin' up the trail, corded earbuds, cotton t-shirt, basketball shorts. Saw a tired-lookin' guy who was completing a section of the Arizona Trail; dude was functioning on nothin' but hopes and dreams. And that was about it; after that—nobody. Just the pines, the grass and the flowers.

Oh my. The flowers. I don't know what it was about them; maybe they itched a scratch in my lethargic mind—I don't know. Whatever the case, I probably spent 20 minutes of extra time to stop and take trillions of pictures of them, they were just so beautiful. 

And so I ended my long hike to ol' Humpheys wandering along the trail and stopping every 2 seconds to snap several photos of the same flower from multiple angles, never quite able to capture its full beauty. And I returned to the dirt parking lot and there were a few folks scattered round, some of them bikers, some of them hikers, some of them hunters, most of 'em just passin' through on a joy ride across dirt roads beneath the pines and the dust and the wispy mountain air. 

Stretched, ate the last of my trail mix, got in the car, drove on out of there. It was just after 2pm. Still had a lot of day left. Still had some energy in my legs. Why not check out another peak? And so that's exactly what I did. Just drove straight to the parking area to the next closest objective, a peak I'd seen in the distance on my way down from Humphrey's: good ol' Mt. Elden. 

Starting the Elden Lookout Trail

Didn't know much about the trail to the top. Only knew that it was short and steep and that there was a lookout tower up there as a kind of reward for your efforts. So I grabbed my trekking poles and a liter of water and started up the trail, the thing relatively flat, not too bad at all...

Up...

and up...

and up!

And then I hit the grade and it was just up up up all the way to the top. Quite the workout, especially after hikin' Humphreys the long way. But this wasn't my first rodeo and fatigue is an old friend of mine so I simply found a comfortable stride and coasted the rest of the way to the top, my mind empty, focused only on the present moment. Heavy breathing, burning lungs, aching legs, a slight dizziness, sweat trickling down my nose, a salty crust forming on my face. Simple things, but they kept my occupied. 

I reached the lookout tower; had the whole thing to myself. Quickly discovered that it's closed to the public. Oh well. I half expected that. So I plopped down on a rock to catch my breath, lower my heart rate, relax a bit, rethink my life choices, you know, stuff like that. Rain clouds were forming in the northeast, isolated, scattered thunderheads vomiting brief yet powerful blasts of moisture upon the thirsty ground. Breath caught, heart rate back to something more reasonable, I gathered my gear and set off for just one more bump off in the distance: the unassuming "TV Hill."

Northeast

Southwest

TV Hill directly center

Flagstaff

TV Hill was a vanity summit. Ain't no reason to go out there. I hiked over to it because it was there. And that was reason enough. I simply followed a dirt road most of the way to the top of its boring, radio tower-encrusted summit, cutting through the grass to save my legs from unnecessary extra mileage. Stood up there for less than five seconds before I turned around and hiked back down the road, hopping over to the Sunset Trail so as to not ascend Mt. Elden a 2nd time. 

Heading back from TV Hill, Mt. Elden right

Cloud vomit

Rejoined the Elden Lookout Trail and hobbled the rest of the way down, my legs just about done for the day. I knew I probably shot myself in the foot and that I wouldn't be able to do everything I had planned for tomorrow, but, ehh, it was a good day. Saw some pretty flowers, pretty clouds, shiny rocks, green grass and stately pines. Couldn't ask for nothin' more, dammit!

And I reached the parking lot and immediately stretched, this session a lot more painful than the one after Humphreys. Somewhat relieved of soreness, I drove into Flagstaff and stopped at an Indian Restaurant where they only had one lady bussing tables, taking orders, answering the phone, processing online orders, AND training two new hires. Service was understandably slow but the food was superb and I left satisfied, the spices burning a hole in my weary stomach. 

Drove off into the night out of town and down another dirt road, this time heading towards the trailhead for Kendrick Mountain. Saw some funky things out there in the woods. Big ol' bonfire out in the middle of nowhere, trailers tucked away without any lights, no sounds, pitch-black darkness all around save for the starry sky up above. Pulled into the parking lot and immediately set up my stuff and conked out on my pad, my legs finally twitching and cramping from a long day in the sticks. Hiked a combined 30 miles with about 7,800ft of elevation gain. Yikes. Tomorrow was gonna be fun, hahaha. 

Dessert

 09/04/26

"Get out of the damn car, 'cmon now! Get OUT of the car!" These were the words that awoke me from my troubled slumber. Was it finally happening? Was I gonna have to fight some bloke? I rolled over with a start and looked out the window, only to see an old guy standing next to his old truck trying to coax his even older dog outside. "C'mon now! Get out. OUT!" Whew. Thank goodness. To tell you the truth, I wasn't feelin' like throwin' hands with some fool at 4am in a dirt pullout up a mountain road on an empty stomach. Not even a little bit. Relieved, I rolled over, pulled the sleepin' bag over my head and listened to the old man and his dog wander off down the trail as I fell back asleep. 

Woke up three hours later, just as the sun was cresting the horizon. Alright. Time to get after it. I performed my morning rituals, you know, chuggin' water, gettin' dressed, lots of coughing and spitting and stuff like that. I hopped outside, grabbed the pack, and then set off down the trail, Santaquin Peak and Loafer Mountain the destinations for the day. 

I figured they'd be a nice way to close out the weekend. Y Mountain was the gut-stuffin' appetizer, Timpanogos and Co. the gigantic main course, so Santaquin and Loafer would be the nice and light, fluffy dessert. At least that's what they seemed to be. Truth be told, I didn't know much of anything about them other than that the hike to their summits wasn't terribly long. Hopefully they'd be like a couple of cookies instead of a gargantuan fudge brownie sunday. I wouldn't be able to eat no fudge brownie sunday. Despite nearly 12 hours of rest, I was still mighty sore from the appetizer and main course. If Santaquin and Loafer turned out to be anything richer than a cheesecake, whelp, I'd have to pay the check and leave. 

Heading off towards the peaks

So I trekked on down the trail, walking through aspens and pines and stuff, following the signs, everything well-marked. Hit a junction with the Loafer Mountain Trail and started headin' up, up, up, the surrounding foliage transforming into the hardy, scrubby kind. Shorter and shorter, the foliage shrank in height with each passing step, eventually revealing views to the southwest of Mt. Nebo and Co. 

Mt. Nebo and Co.

Up, up up...

The trail curved to the east, ascending a ridge for a ways before offering any kind of substantial relief. Like the trail up Slide Canyon on the way to Y Mountain, this path had very few switchbacks. Just a steady grade and a whole lotta up. But no worries. My legs were so accustomed to eating vert that I hardly noticed it. Just put my head down kept on truckin', one little step at a time.

Met the old guy at one point. He was on his way down, dressed in jeans, a flannel, an orange hunting vest and carrying an antiquated lookin' shotgun in his right hand, the thing open and unloaded. His older dog had a vest with an antenna on it, and it was trudging along in front of him, an empty expression on its gray face. "Mornin'" he said, all smiles, his voice warm and fuzzy. The venom in his words from that morning were long, long gone. Hard to imagine that this affable chap was the same boisterous bloke who awoke me from my slumber. I suppose the mountains had calmed him down. They tend to do that, you know?

The peaks come into view

Eventually, I reached a saddle of sorts, gettin' my very first look at Santaquin and Loafer Mountain. Not too far, not too scary lookin'. Yessir. Looked manageable. A little steep in places, but manageable. So I stopped for a moment to catch my breath and snap a photo and then I continued along the trail, nothin' but wispy grass and the occasional conglomeration of fragrant pines. 

Loafer Mountain

Heading up Loafer Mtn

I decided to check out Loafer first since it seemed to be the more difficult looking of the two. I followed the trail for a bit before leavin' it at the base of Loafer's southwest ridge, now following a use trail as it snaked its way up to the top. Real steep it was, but nothin' my fatigued legs couldn't handle. Just took my time, kept the heart rate low, looked at the scenery, you know, actually enjoyed myself out there. Not every hike gotta be a death march. Shoot, this was dessert after all. And I'd be damned if I didn't enjoy it. 

Empty can on top of Loafer Mtn

I reached the summit, the thing more of a long, open, breezy ridge than anything else. Found an empty can that probably once contained the register; other than that, the place was pretty barren. Good views in most directions, particularly of Mt. Nebo and Co. to the southwest. Still feelin' pretty peachy at this point, I decided to keep going, heading off Loafer's steep northwest slope back to the trail and off to the summit of Santaquin Peak.

Southwest

Southeast

Santaquin Peak over yonder

Super steep on the northwest slope

Man that slope was steep. Real steep. Probably shoulda backtracked a little down the southwest ridge...but...oh well. I'd made the commitment and I certainly wasn't gonna turn around. Besides, I don't mind me a steep slope. Keeps the mind occupied. Focused. Grounded. 

And so I slid on down that slope, careful not to lose control and face plant in the sharp rocks and unwelcoming dirt. Off to my right was this large family of mountain goats moseying along across some cliffs and loose rock, makin' it look easy, the showoffs. I stopped and watched them for a minute or two as they maneuvered up this impossible terrain, slowly wrapping around a steep ridge out of sight. How they're able to so casually saunter through the insanity of the mountains is beyond me...

Making it look easy...

Santaquin Peak ahead

Summit attained!

Finally, I hit the trail at the bottom of the slope and banged out the last little bit to the summit in no time. A tad windy up there, but luckily I had my trusty windbreaker with me so it wasn't a problem, dang it! And I sat on down beneath the American flag and looked at the register, the thing filled to the brim with entries going back a number of years. Seems like this peak gets at least one visitor a day. A very popular summit indeed.

And I could see why. Excellent views of all around, especially the view north. The urban sprawl of Provo and its surrounding enclaves expanded before me, the massive blue jewel of Utah Lake to the left, the mighty summits of the Wasatch Range to the right. Looking west revealed basin and range country; dry deserts, rugged peaks. South revealed rolling, forested hills, bumpy summits, Loafer Mountain takin' up most of the frame. And off to the west was nothin' but a vast expanse of green wilderness, peaks and canyons and ridges galore. 

North

Northwest

Southeast

Southwest

I stayed up there for a while, soakin' in the scenery, enjoying my dessert. Hikin' the two peaks definitely wasn't like eatin' two cookies; more like a large slice of key lime pie. Filling for sure, but it didn't destroy me. At least, not yet. Still had to make it back down. Still had to digest it. But that could wait. For now: the views.

And then the wind got me cold and the sun started to sizzle and so I was like "aight, time to head out." And so I donned the pack for the last time that day and strode off down the trail, the early afternoon colors nice and vibrant, everything bursting with energy and brilliance. Goodbye, Santaquin Peak. See you later, Loafer Mountain. You were both mighty delicious. 

Heading back...

Down the trail, down through gorgeous alpine terrain, nothin' but windswept grass and those ever-fragrant pines. Hit the saddle where I'd stopped that morning and began the steep descent down the ridge, down, down, down, back into the land of heat and scrub. I had no thoughts, absolutely nothin' goin' on upstairs. I'd done it. I'd finished the meal. The feast was complete. Wow, wow, wow. 

I suppose I was in a post-feast-induced stupor, the kind that you experience after Thanksgiving dinner where all you wanna do is lay on the couch and pass out. But I didn't have no couch. All I had was the trail. And so I checked-out on the trail, my body cruising on auto pilot, my legs escorting me the rest of the way to the trailhead.

Back in the scrub...

Got to the ol' car, changed out of my stinky, disgusting hikin' clothes into my less stinky, slightly less disgusting pajamas. Rolled down the windows, put up the sunshade, read for a little while. And then 2pm came and went and I had a long drive ahead of me and I wanted to get back before dark so I figured I may as well start 'er up and head on out of there while I still had the chance. 

Wow wee, what a weekend. Hiked about 40 miles with just about 16,000ft of elevation gain in 2½ days. What a feast, what a feast. I'd for sure gotten my fill, and, driving out of those mountains, back on the I-15, off and away into the distant horizon, I figured I'd never have to eat like that again. Oh how naive of me. 

Little did I know, this modest weekend trip would spurn two more endeavors of the same caliber, each one absolutely ridiculous in their own right. But those are stories for another time...